Good Intentions
by Sylvanius
Summary: Moonlight, bonfires, and ale;Daine and Numair find themselves blurring lines one summer night. Post-RotG in an AU where Daine and Numair did not become romantically involved.
1. By Firelight

Daine swayed, enjoying the warmth from the fire at her front, and the cool summer night breeze at her back. The pasture was a flurry of activity—the newly minted riders celebrating the end of summer and of their training. As darkness fell the party had expanded to embrace all others who were not above such pursuits. Stable-hands, palace servants, clerks, and even the occasional noble had crept into the growing crowd. Two more bonfires has been erected to light the festivities after the first was overwhelmed.

Daine soothed a herd of ponies who were disgruntled by being displaced, reminding them that it was only for a night. A particularly cranky gelding replied that he did not like talking to her when her head was all upside down. She closed her link, giggling and taking another sip from the mug she clutched against her chest. She supposed everyone could use a break now and then.

She scanned the crowd looking for familiar faces. If she was being honest with herself she was looking for one in particular—she had not seen Numair since before the last fire had been lit. She tried to silence the voice that said he had probably left with his companion; the tall, buxom, fair-haired woman she had seen him with. Onua had been right all those years ago. He had a type-and it surely was not her. She supposed at this age she would have to accept that the curves she had hoped would fill in as she grew were not coming at all. Daine tugged at her shirt, unconsciously.

Her eyes fell on Miri and Evin who were goading on some newly minted riders in a drinking game that Daine knew first-hand to be a mistake. While the status of their relationship was always touch-and-go, to be kind, you could always count on them to make trouble together. Movement to her left made her glance over, and avert her eyes just as quickly. Gavin, a bit of fun she'd enjoyed several months earlier around Midwinter—and again when she turned twenty-one, was talking to a pretty red-headed cook. It had been messy, but fun. Now it was something they didn't have time to talk about between being too busy avoiding one another.

She drank deeply from her mug, draining it, and moved away from the risk of having to acknowledge him. She deposited her mug on a table underneath one of the tents as she walked. She considered getting another but the slight wobble in her step and the happy feeling warming the pit of her stomach told her that that she was approaching the line of enjoying her night or loathing her morning.

Cheers drew her to the furthest fire. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she approached—she should have worn a cloak. She was thankful for the warmth even on the outskirts of the huddle. She peeked through the crowd circled around the fire and laughed. Sarge was performing a jig that looked as though it should be impossible for a man of his height and bulk. Onua was next to him, making this likely the only time the pair would be close in height, and attempting to match his movements but with far less poise. Daine sympathized with her friend, remembering her own attempts to best Sarge earlier.

"Going to attempt a rematch?"

"You saw that?" She groaned and turned to Numair who was smirking at the show in front of them. She absently brushed off the back of her breeches again, not sure if she had gotten all of the dirt off. She noticed, enviously, that Numair was tall enough to watch without having to find an opening.

"Me and half the party." He laughed and she felt herself blush, trying to push away the warm-fuzzy feeling that his laughter had induced.

"Oh good," she replied dryly, "when I begin my career as a great entertainer you can tell everyone you were there the night it began." He laughed again and they watched until Onua conceded defeat, calling Sarge something rude. Daine licked her lips, sneaking a glance at her tall friend, and deciding if she should ask what she really wanted to know. Urged on by her alcohol-induced nerve she tested the waters.

"I didn't know you were still here." She said slowly and saw him look at her from the corner of her eye.

"I think we were missing each other—you know I wouldn't leave until I'd seen all of my friends make fools of themselves," he grinned wickedly, "I look forward to it every year." It was her turn to laugh.

"I just thought maybe you had found more enticing entertainment." She blushed as her own suggestion—while it was not a topic they avoided it was not one they commonly spoke of either. Not frankly, anyway. There was a pause and Numair looked at her, as if he was trying to decide if he understood her. Finally he blushed and looked down.

"Just me tonight, Magelet. Isa left a little while ago." Daine nodded, trying not to show that she was pleased, and her eyes fell on his hands. He held two full steins and she met his eyes again, raising an incredulous eyebrow. He laughed.

"She left with her Fiancé, actually," he elaborated, shaking his head, "One of these is for you, actually. Although now I'm wondering if you should have it. I think you may have had enough." He narrowed his eyes at her. She hoped she wasn't swaying—it was a little hard to tell.

"Sorry about your friend."

"Why? I'm not." He shrugged and she smiled, pleased. Daine reached out and took one of the mugs, allowing herself to enjoy the tiny shudder that went through her when her fingers brushed his own.

"One more won't get me into any trouble." She took a sip and he did the same, shaking his head.

"Famous last words, my dear." His endearment caught her off guard and she looked at him, but he was staring firmly ahead. It was hard to tell in the firelight but she thought she could see the ghost of a blush gracing his swarthy complexion.

"Still looking for someone to sweet talk tonight, Master Mage?"

"I'm not looking for anything tonight." She could tell he was embarrassed and couldn't lie that she enjoyed making him squirm.

"Already found it?" She blushed at her own words and Numair took a long drink, shaking his head.

"Careful, Magelet. You'll break hearts with talk like that." He still wasn't looking at her, though she noticed that he had shifted closer—so that their arms just barely touched.

She let a silence fall between them. Their silences were always comfortable—that was one of the great things about their relationship. They didn't need to talk to enjoy each other. This time, however, was different. It was charged—the weight of it heavy with something she couldn't put her finger on, or was too afraid to recognize.

She would be lying if she said they never flirted—it had become another facet of their relationship over the past several years as such things do—but it was always careless. The kind of dallying you do without thinking, design, or investment. The kind that makes a long journey less dreary or the stretches between lovers a little less lonely.

It would also be a lie if she said that her mind did not sometimes wander during their flirtations—what would it be like for him to pursue her in earnest, for there to be meaning to his playful affections? She would be lying if she said she didn't occasionally wonder what it would be like to be seduced by him—if she said she didn't want to know what that was like.

She always tried to push these thoughts away as quickly as they appeared, though in some moments—like tonight—that was harder done than said. They lingered with her and in the happy haze of her mind she couldn't help but let them remain a little longer in the firelight.

She knew he didn't see that way. She was surely a child, and always would be, next to the exquisite creatures he pursued. He was affectionate by nature and, she was sure, indulging her in their wordplay.

"What's on your mind?" He leaned over, so that his soft voice would reach her through the din of the pasture. She blushed, startled out of her fantasies.

"Why?" She didn't look at him, enjoying the feeling in the pit of her stomach from his closeness.

"You look," he paused, thoughtful, and straightened. She heard him exhale as the distance between them increased-felt just a whisper of his breath on her neck. He chuckled softly, "Are you looking for something tonight?" She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe I am." She leaned over, ever so slightly—just enough to press a little more firmly against him. He took a large swig and chortled again.

"I need another drink."

Despite the hour the celebration was still travelling to a peak as Numair nursed another drink. Neither of them were regular drinkers, but she had to admit she was enjoying watching him let loose as much as she had. Urged on by Daine, Numair had taken a stab at Sarge's jig, but was considerably less graceful. Daine laughed so hard she nearly cried at the sight of his long limbs flailing about—nearly landing in the fire at one point. He had sulked back to her, a little dustier and considerably more embarrassed than when he had left.

"Drink up my lovely, graceless little pets." Sarge found them not too soon after, clutching three cups of whiskey.

"I don't think so." Numair tried to refuse but Sarge pushed the drink into the mage's hand.

"It's my prize for besting each of you. You don't have a choice." He winked at Daine and handed her a drink. She noticed that her's was considerably less full than either of theirs. Numair did as well and evoked a booming laugh from Sarge when he brought it up.

"We're both twice of her, aren't we?" He downed his in one large gulp. Daine shrugged at Numair and followed suit, making a face as the liquid burned its way down her throat. Numair, looking decidedly uneasy, did the same and coughed violently. Sarge shook his head and wandered away muttering about mages who couldn't dance, and couldn't drink.

"Have I not been embarrassed enough tonight?" He asked when he had finally caught his breath.

Sarge managed to cajole them into one more drink before the night was through, and needless to say they were both feeling the effects by the time the fires began to die down and the revelers begin to disperse.

The pair found themselves reclining on some hay bales, tucked away from the center of the merriment and content to chat and watch the mischief unfolding before them. They were nearly flattened by a couple who has snuck away and not seen them, concealed in the dark, until they were almost on top of them—literally—but had had no interruptions since.

Numair had complained of the cold, so far away from the fire, and Daine had snuggled under the crook of his arm and told him she would keep him warm. He did not protest and rested his arm around her, pulling her just a little bit closer. Daine turned onto her side, pressing the length of her body against his and sliding a leg over his. She sighed, happily, and rested her hand on his chest.

"Daine," he murmured when she slid her hand underneath his cloak and began to trace circles in the chest hair peeking from the neckline of his shirt.

"Yes?" She snuggled closer, playing coy. Her hazy mind had no thought for any consequences beyond the heat of his body against hers.

He sighed and smiled, settling. "Nothing." She smiled too, content focus on the feel of his chest beneath her hand. While he was generally affectionate with her he was usually quick to pull back from too much physical contact-he said it was distracting. A glint of light caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

"There! A shooting star!" Daine pointed to the sky, pulling her hand from the warmth of his cloak. "Make a wish!" She turned to him, face only inches away from his own. "Make it something good."

"Something good? And here I was going to wish for something mediocre," he drawled, watching the sky. She pinched his side, softly, but laughed.

"What did you wish for?" She felt her breath hitch when he turned to look at her, keenly aware of the scant distance between them.

"I'm not supposed to tell you. I'm pretty sure that's a rule."

She pouted, stomach dropping when his gaze fell to her lips. "I think there's a loophole." She said, earnestly.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, I think if we both tell it's fine."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," she giggled and he couldn't help but join her-drink and the late hour affecting both of their humors. "Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." She shifted again, now laying more on top of him than against him, and the movement brought them closer. She hoped she sounded calmer than she felt. His nearness was making her lightheaded-or perhaps it was the drink. Either way, she was finding it difficult to focus on anything other than him.

"I won't be tricked that easily," he murmured, breath tickling her lips.

"Of course not, a great mage like you won't give up something for nothing," she grinned, leaning closer and meeting his eye from beneath long lashes before she knew what she was doing. Even in her drunkenness she knew this moment. An invitation. The moment stretched out until Numair pulled back with a strangled laugh.

"I think it's time to get you inside." He sat up, pulling her with him, and she released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She was sure she was blushing, but was also sure she wasn't the only one.

"Why?" She pouted, bits of hay sticking out from her curls.

"It's late, and cold." He shivered for emphasis.

"Was I not keeping you warm enough?" She giggled again.

"That seems like a question I'd be better off avoiding." He stood, holding out his hand to help her up. She accepted and he pulled her to him, both of them stumbling. Daine fell and Numair nearly went with her, barely maintaining his own balance before pulling her up once more and sliding a hand around her waist to hold her-and himself-steady.

The walked together-leaning on one another for support-as Daine used her free hand to pick bits of hay from her clothing and hair.

"You're drunk," she laughed when he stumbled next.

"You're drunk." He shot back as they nearly avoided walking into a fence.

"We're both drunk." She plucked a strand of hay from behind his ear, slurring her words. "You know, I don't think we've ever been drunk together."

"That can't be true." He shook his head. "The Rider's party three summer's ago-"

"No, I was drunk. Sarge convinced me to play that drinking game. You held my hair back and gave him a lecture."

"When you and Lindhall were at my tower last summer."

"No, you and Lindhall were very drunk. I held your hair back and learned far too much about your," she shot him a sour look, "former lovers."

"Ah, yes. We do not need to relive that night."

"Oh no, it was all very enlightening."

"You're a woman of many interests." He partially trampled a bush as they stopped at her door.

"Not really," she eyed him as slyly as someone who was made up of at least half alcohol could. "I like drinking with you, though."

"Is that so?"

"I like doing everything with you." She leaned against her door. "I like doing new things with you."

"New things?" He leaned over her, moonlight allowing her to make out his features-barely.

"Yes," she murmured, "like drinking." She felt breathless, suddenly, and looked down.

"I like doing things with you, too." He said quietly and she smiled, swaying in place and turning her attention to her door.

She fumbled for a moment before the lock clicked and she tottered in, laughing and nearly falling again.

"Careful." Numair chided, following her and swearing when he stumbled over the threshold. He moved past her as she closed the door and lit the lantern on her dresser. He stayed with his back turned to her for a moment before turning around and flashing her a smile.

"I should let you get some sleep." He took a step and she moved to let him pass, leaning against the wall. He paused when his hand was on the handle, hovering over her and peering at her intently.

"Will you be alright?" He placed a hand under her chin, guiding her face upwards to get a better look at her.

"Your hands are still cold," she murmured, meeting his gaze through her lashes.

"What?" He barely had time to speak before she covered his hand with her own and closed the distance between them, crushing her lips against his own.


	2. By Light of Day

Daine's lips pressed against his own—clumsy, and tasting of ale and whiskey, and irresistible. Despite himself, and despite all the things he had spent the long walk saying he would not do he kissed her back in earnest, pressing down and losing himself in her.

Her tongue flicked against his lips, coaxing him, and he tasted whiskey again—the sensation bringing him back to awareness. Back to the cold night air and the dark room where only his dreams had been before. Where the familiar pull in his belly and groin urged him forward. Where his friend looked at him with an expression he had never seen in her eyes—but was familiar with nonetheless. Where his very young was too far gone in lust and drink to know what she wanted.

He pulled back, regret battling with a shaky conviction.

"We should stop." He wondered if it sounded like a question to her as well. He hadn't even begun to get his breathing, let alone the rest of him, under control when she pressed against him again, lips meeting his neck and her words coming as murmurs between her lips and teeth and tongue working against his sensitive flesh.

"Why?" Her hands pulled at his shirt and slid beneath it. He shuddered when her fingers skimmed across his stomach, teasing at the waistband of his breeches. His hips rolled against her in an automatic response—pressing his arousal more firmly against her hip. She gasped—or maybe he did. It was getting difficult to keep thoughts straight.

"Daine," it was a plea. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Don't worry." Her hand moved away from his stomach, travelling down. "I want to." She stretched to kiss him again, her lips barely making contact before he pulled away, grabbing her wrists with his hands and holding them away from him.

"I don't." His words came harsher than he meant them—cutting through the haziness of the night air and of the moment. This isn't how things were supposed to happen.

She blinked at him, shocked, and pulled her hands back, folding her arms against her chest. She looked so young in that moment—huddled in on herself, eyes over-bright.

"I'm sorry," she stammered and turned her head away as she was prone to do when she did not want him to see her cry. He reached out, wanting to soothe her, but she flinched and he backed off and he did not try again. "I should get to bed." She placed a hand on her door, her request for him to leave clear.

"Daine," He wanted to comfort her, wanted to ease the rejection he had inflicted on her. They could talk, in the morning, and see where things lay then. What was one more night alone? She cut him off, shaking her head.

"It really is late." She shut the door behind him and he let her, standing outside for a long moment—hoping she would open the door again. She didn't.

Numair made the long journey back to his room deep in a hazy thought—willing himself not to turn around and beg for another chance to share her bed that night. He tried not to think about what morning would bring and the lines that could not be uncrossed, and instead allowed himself to sink into the feeling of her lips on his own and her hand as it had moved against his breeches. If there was anything he knew it was that he had no business being so aroused in such cold and after so much liquor. He could not remember ever being so bewitched by another.

He clambered into bed that night with his thoughts on her, too drunk and in love to do anything but surrender to them.

* * *

Numair rose the next morning feeling considerably older than his years. Shame battled his hangover for the torture of the day as he dragged himself through his morning routine, only grudgingly leaving his room in the early hours in hopes of resolving things with Daine as quickly as possible.

The bright side of Numair's predicament is that he was far from the only one to fall afoul a rider's party. The usually boisterous mess-hall was much quieter, and emptier, that morning. Many of those who had bothered to show up sat stonily, nibbling carefully at what they thought they could stomach. To Numair's relief some absolute saint of a person had left more shutters than usual closed. Had it not been for this predicament with Daine he would still be buried in bed. It occurred to him that he was not sure he had actually ever attended breakfast the morning after a rider's celebration before.

He spotted his young friend from across the hall, relieved that he hadn't braved the stomach-churning walk down for nothing. He fetched food-a mild porridge-and tried to ignore the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was sure at this point it was more nerves that plagued him than the belly full of stale liquor.

He sat next to Onua, head pounding as she laughed at his condition, and offered a quiet 'good morning' which Daine returned without meeting his eye. Based on how determined she was to not look in his direction it was fair to say she remembered their exchange which was, truth be told, probably just a few hours prior.

"Well, some role models the two of you are," Onua eyed the mage, making no effort to soften her voice.

"I think you should be directing that statement at Sarge, Horse Mistress," Numair replied, just as sourly. "I blame him for at least half of what I drank last night. He's a horrible influence."

"I'm sorry, do the two of you require a chaperone to behave yourselves?"

Numair glanced at Daine just as she did the same to him, a blush that he was sure he mirrored spreading across her face.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable on that high horse," Daine shifted back to their friend, "Sarge has told me some stories about you."

"Has he?" Onua scoffed, but Daine lifted an eyebrow and continued.

"Not to mention what you've told me yourself. Seems you aren't as immune to his wiles as you'd have people think."

Numair's interest piqued at Daine's word choice, not to mention the sharp glance Onua threw at the younger woman.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Onua placed her cup onto her tray carefully, eyes focused on her empty plate. "I see some recruits who have also made horrible decisions and need to tend to their chores. I hope you both have a rotten day." She picked up her tray and took her leave, barking at any particularly hungover and unfortunate riders in her path to follow her for stable-duty.

Numair turned his attention back to Daine, who was furiously determined to remain focused on her meal. Truth be told, he would much rather do the same. For all of his telling himself that he wanted things to get back to normal as quickly as possible, he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the glimmer of hope the previous night had ignited in him. Ever since he had left her rooms he had been pushing back thoughts of what would happen if that's what she did want. He didn't want that feeling to end. A tense moment passed before Numair cleared his throat and quietly interjected, "Daine."

She stopped, placing her utensils down carefully and taking a deep breath before meeting his eye. He was surprised to see them over-bright.

"Can I speak first?" There was a hesitance in her voice he wasn't familiar with. He gave a small nod, motioning for her to continue.

"I owe you an apology," her voice broke, almost imperceptible, and she looked around to see if anyone was listening, "a big one. What I did last night-" she shook her head.

"Magelet," he reached to cover her hand with his own but she moved away, placing her hands in her lap where she picked at her nails-a habit he had thought long gone.

"No, Numair," she shook her head, "If a man had pressed himself on me the way I did you-" she blushed furiously, shame evident in her entire body.

"That's not the same."

"But it is." She stared him down. "You didn't want to," she cleared her throat, and waved her hand ambiguously-not able to verbalize what had transpired between them and obviously paranoid that someone may overhear. "And I pressed on. That wasn't fair of me, or acceptable. I obviously wasn't prudent with drink and," she sighed, eyes threatening to spill embarrassed tears.

"Daine," he leaned forward, speaking softly, "there were two of us there last night and I would argue that both of us were imprudent. You have no reason to feel ashamed, sweetling." She gave him a look that left no doubt that his words were not as effective as he had hoped.

"Can you accept my apology, and if so can we just carry on as we did before?" She was truly concerned that he was the one who would be angry, a possibility that had not occurred to him. He looked at her, pausing to think over his next words.

"Is that what you want?" There were too many meanings to his words for him to process, much less express.

"Please," it was a plea if anything. He thought to reach out again, but didn't.

"Okay." He nodded, fighting to keep his disappointment from showing. When she did not look convinced he pressed on, "Whatever you want magelet. As long as you are alright, we are alright. I don't think there is anything to forgive, but I will accept your apology nonetheless."

She sighed, offering a half smile. She looked tired, and young. "I think I may try to get some more sleep. I told Onua I'd help with the mounts this afternoon and I barely made it down the hall this morning."

He laughed, "I completely understand. I'm seriously considering crawling into a stall and finding a nice pile of hay somewhere." That drew a small laugh from her-it was something. "Do you want me to walk you back?" Normally this question wouldn't make either of them think twice, but there was a beat of silence as Daine blushed and looked away.

"No, thank you. I think I'll just head back." She smiled at him and stood, turning away without a glance back. Numair took a moment to collect himself, disappointment and relief simultaneously thick in this throat. His walk back to the palace was once again pensive, and somehow lonelier than the night before.


	3. Bygones be Bygones

In the following days his hangover cleared, but Numair remained distracted. He wanted to respect Daine's wishes and let the whole matter go. It would be easier, to be sure, if the incident could be swept under the rug without another care but a thought kept nagging at him.

He had seen women too far gone to know who they invited into their beds before and, he hated to admit it, but he also knew what it was like to _make_ a decision he may not have had his wits been about him. He had not been prudent that night, but he knew _very_ well who he was with and what he had wanted. He knew very well every line they had threatened to cross as the night had crept on. He couldn't shake the thought that she had too.

He was sure he had made the right choice when he walked away that night. Despite what they both may have wanted, it was not the time nor the circumstance for taking advantage of those desires. What he wasn't sure of was if walking away _now_ was the right thing.

They were both adults and it was with a queasy feeling in his stomach, and shaky resolve that he came to the conclusion he would need to force the issue. They would have to talk about what lay between them and if it truly was nothing so be it.

Four more days, and three fruitless visits to her rooms, passed and opportunity finally presented itself. The beginning of Fall always marked one thing in the palace: the arrival of new pages. Numair sat in his study reading over a letter from an old friend regarding some promising Thanic ruins discovered in Tusaine and listening to the sounds of eager young minds filling the adjoining classroom. It was only when he had finished the letter that he realized it had become _far_ too quiet for a group of eleven-year-olds.

"-often late, but a very good teacher," Daine was saying as he ducked into the classroom, pulling on his robe. He shot her a look of mock reproach and hoped he wasn't blushing at her unexpected presence, but was pleased to notice she sported her own blush as she turned away and began clearing the chalkboard.

"I assume you've only been telling them good things?" He surveyed the room, taking in the young, scared faces. She smirked, but did not answer and allowed him to turn his attention to the class in welcome. For the past several years she had joined him for his first classes of the year and assisted with his introduction to the various schools of magic. Her ability to demonstrate things most of the children had only ever heard about in fables was always a hit. In all his fretting over finding a time to speak with her, he had forgotten she would be coming to him.

Class passed quickly and was one of their better years if he said so himself. Daine had enlisted the help of several of her furrier friends for demonstrations, and at one point changed her ears to those of a bat which elicited reactions of both shock and awe in turn.

As the pages began to file out of the room, several with chipmunks along for the ride, he turned back to his young friend. She was clearing the board again, focused intently on wiping away a diagram of chakras.

"How late was I?" He asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Not your worst," she smirked, casting him a sidelong glance and blushing again before averting her gaze. "How many sections this year?" She put down the eraser and brushed her hands on her breeches.

"Just one more, tomorrow." He sat against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms as he studied her.

She nodded, putting her hands in her pockets. "I'll find some more volunteers. Maybe I can convince Kit to come as well-she was in a foul mood this morning." Numair snorted, knowing what it was like to try to rouse a dragon who did not wish to be awoken.

"Lunch?" He nodded towards the study. For as long as she had assisted him with classes they had enjoyed lunch afterwards, the visit usually extending long into the afternoon and sometimes including dinner as well.

She drew a breath, eyes shifting between him and the study door. "I'm afraid not, I have," she faltered, "plans," she finished lamely. He suppressed a sigh, hurt more by her lack of honesty than her response.

"Alright. Tomorrow, then. After class." If he had thought to add more he had no chance as she was already out the door with a non-committal response.

The next day Numair waited at his desk for the class to fill, finding that Daine had anticipated this and slipped into the room shortly after the bell. Kit was with her this time, never failing to capture the attention of an entire room and thriving in it.

The adoring crowd did not fully disperse until Numair shooed them out, reminding them that they would be late for mathematics and the master was _not_ a forgiving man. Daine plucked Kit from the ground, the dragonet whistling softly after her newfound friends.

"I'd like to warn you that one day you will grow old, and people will cease to fawn over you but I fear the opposite may be true," he lectured the young immortal. "You're becoming very spoiled." He rubbed the underside of her chin, enjoying the purr-like sounds Kit emitted in response.

"Because you're not to blame in that at all," Daine rolled her eyes at him. "George actually promised her he would show her some of his spy glasses. I told him i'd be here and he could meet us for lunch to fetch her." Kit perked up upon hearing this but Numair paused, brows knit in confusion. They both knew perfectly well that Kit was independent enough to not need a handler when traveling to and fro on the castle grounds. He suppressed another sigh. She could be so vexing when she wanted to be.

"There's plenty of food," he shrugged. "I have some interesting news from Joren-my colleague in Tusaine, remember?" He motioned for her to follow him as he moved to the study where a spread of breads, jams, and cheeses was waiting for them. He noticed she left the door open behind her. "I think you'll be interested in the implications. We can talk about it more after George leaves; I'm not sure the topic is quite to his preference." He sat in his preferred chair and smiled when Kit wriggled from Daine's grasp and climbed into his lap. "Fine," he smirked at the dragon, "but you can feed yourself."

"I probably won't be able to stay; I promised Onua a hand at the barracks." She reached for a sweet roll and applied a generous dab of blackberry jam.

He watched her rest the roll on a plate and pick at it bit by bit. "What time will you be done? Let's go into the city and get dinner. We haven't been in a long while." There was a pointed pause and she set her plate down.

"Numair," she sighed, shaking her head. It pained him to see her at a loss for words in his company.

"Daine, we _have_ to talk about this."

"No, we don't." She met his eye now, challenging. "I asked you to just _let it be_."

"I know," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "but I shouldn't have. I don't want to make you uncomfortable magelet, but I really-"

" _Uncomfortable_?" She was incredulous. "Numair, I am humiliated enough without rehashing how fool-"

"Afternoon!" A familiar, lilting voice called out from the adjoining room and Daine turned her head away, taking a deep breath and steadying herself with a technique Numair himself had taught her.

"George," he forced a smile, motioning for their friend to join them. Kit, whose scales were threatening to turn fully grey, trilled in delight and jumped ship to the rogues lap when he sat.

"Hello there, sweet thing," George tickled the dragonets belly. "Kit, Daine-lovely to both of ye as well."

Numair rolled his eyes and pushed the tray closer to the man, and casting a glance at Daine who had offered only a distracted smile and a soft acknowledgement.

"How is this years lot?" He took took a sweet roll, biting off half of it in one go and feeding the other half to Kit. Numair replied, attention half devoted to the conversation but half distracted by Daine. She listened politely for a few moments, dutifully avoiding Numair's gaze, before excusing herself with an apology.

"I'm sorry," she stood, straightening her tunic, "but I think Onua will be waiting on me. Kit can come back on her own whenever she's ready, George." With that, and without so much of a glance at Numair, she left.

Numair tapped the arm of his chair, staring at the now empty seat across from him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" George said, breaking the silence along with another sweet roll.

"Talk about _what_?" Numair grabbed a piece of cheese and bit off a chunk with more force than the poor morsel probably deserved. He grimaced, realizing it had bits of spicy pepper in it and dropped the remainder back onto the tray. He turned to see George studying him with raised eyebrows.

"I was thinking perhaps this fine fit your havin', or perhaps the fit the lass is havin', or whatever I just strolled in on," he listed them off as if we were talking about the weather. " _Or_ ," he fixed Numair with a knowing stare, "about whatever the two of ye were up to in that hay bail last week."

Numair blanched and felt his stomach flip. He reeled, trying to grasp for some plausible response and opted for ignorance before too much time passed. "I don't know what you're talking about." He took another piece of cheese and leaned back, trying to appear casual and hide the expression on his face when he took a bite only to taste pepper again.

"Numair," George deadpanned, "you know it's literally my job to know things. Give me a little credit. My network of lovely little doves reaches far and wide." It seemed that he was struggling to keep his own composure as it wasn't long before he cracked a grin. "Besides, Alanna and I almost fell on top of the both of ye." He laughed out loud as Numair released a defeated sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.

"George, please," he groaned, shaking his head. He turned to his friend, noticing that Kit was alert and watching the two men with great attention. Numair nodded towards the dragonet. "Not in front of the children."


	4. Bye for Now

"Daine," Numair knocked again. "I know you're in there." He sighed where there was no answer, leaning to rest against the door.

"I leave in the morning; first bell. I know you said you didn't want to come but if you change your mind-" he traced her name plate with one finger, feeling the grooves of letters. "Either way, I'd like to see you."

He waited, anticipation slowly giving way to disappointment when no reply was heard. "Well, goodbye," he faltered. He couldn't remember a time when he had been at such a loss when it came to Daine. Sighing again, he pushed himself away from the door and headed back to his rooms. There had been a time, not so long ago, that he would have had trouble getting rid of her the night before they were to be separated.

A letter from an old friend had turned into an opportunity for both him and the university. Tomorrow, he would leave for Tusaine and not return until at least first frost. His best efforts to talk to Daine had been found in vain as she proved obstinate and skilled when it came to avoiding him. His concern had turned to frustration and then offense before circling back to concern and repeating the cycle in an endless loop over the past couple weeks.

His sleep was restless and it was with a heavy heart and arguably heavier eyelids, that he attached his packs to Spots the following morning. The air was misty and damp, and he was nothing if not more vexed to know that he would probably spend a good deal of the journey _cold_ as well as alone.

Before he could mount he felt something hit his boot with a soft thud, followed by an anxious trill.

"Kit," he beamed, his first silver lining of the morning appearing in the form of the small immortal. He picked her up as she chattered in a series of whistles and chirps. "I will miss you too," he replied, earnestly, "but I will be back before you know it."

The small creature nuzzled into his chest, scales slowly shifting from grey to her usual blue. He preened the young immortal, taking care to pay special attention to a spot under her snout her knew her to be particularly fond of, as he became aware that they were not alone.

Daine stood several feet away, leaning against a stall. "Kit convince you to bring her by?" He struggled to keep his annoyance in check.

She paused, the hay she had been twirling between her fingers stopping it's motion. Finally, she sighed. "You know she could have come on her own."

Kit was squirming in his grasp now, stretching to get close to Spots. "Ah, you just wanted to see _him_ ," he said sourly as he passed her over to perch on the geldings back, though her affection for his mount always touched him. He put his hands in his pockets and approached Daine. He was half-surprised she didn't bolt in the other direction. She twirled the hay again, eyes following it.

"You could still come with me," he broke the silence. She looked as though she may respond, but seemed to think better of it. Numair grabbed the strand from her hands and let it drop to the ground. " _Daine_."

"I shouldn't," she shrugged and crossed her arms.

"Shouldn't, or don't want to?" It came out sharper than he had meant, but for the first time she met his gaze and he saw her own temper rise.

"What I want-" she bit her lip, looking away and collecting herself with a steady breath. "It's not about what I want," she shook her head. "I just don't think it's the right choice for me right now; can you respect that?"

He softened, guilt at the thought he had been pressuring her tempering his anger. "Of course. Thank you for coming this morning."

"I wouldn't let you leave without saying goodbye. Even if-" she faltered again, putting her hands in her pockets and mirroring his own stance. They stood in silence, unsure of what to say, or perhaps out of things to say. He broke the silence first.

"I have to get going," he moved forward and embraced her. There had been a time when it would have felt natural, but now he was tentative-unsure of whether or not she wanted to be touched. She returned the gesture but did not lean into him as she usually did. He drew away, noticing that her eyes were over-bright. He wanted to reach out, stroke her cheek, but didn't.

"I'll write." He paused as she nodded, before drawing a deep breath. "When I get back-"

"Yeah," she cut him off, nodding again. "Okay. Don't stay away too long." She smiled at him as he plucked Kitten from Spots, and handed the dragonet back to her mother.

He winked at her, "I'll be back before you know it."

* * *

Magelet,

I have to say it was strange to be on the road without you. I've become very used to having you by my side-setting up camp takes me much longer now! I can't say that I'm enjoying it.

I'll cross the River Drell tomorrow. Hoping for a much less damp experience than we had the last time we did it. I'll let you know how it goes.

I'm sending some sweets that I picked up in Ravendale. Remember that little cart with the old woman who read your palm? She's still there and remembered you and Kit. Me, not so much but you know how I feel about fortune telling. Maybe it showed and i've been snubbed.

Anyway, she remembered you both and gave me some treats to get to you. She says her dog (Tantio?) is still doing wonderful. The mint is for you, and the strawberry for Kit.

Missing you both,

Numair

* * *

Numair,

Knowing your coordination your river crossing was likely as bad as the last, though I am assuming you've dried by now.

Thank you for the sweets! We both loved them. Kit loved them _messily_ as you can see from the chocolate stains on this letter.

I've been invited to both the Swoop and Legann, but haven't accepted either invitation. I must admit i'm feeling fair ambivalent right now and I won't lie but am not enjoying the idea of travelling without you either. It does feel strange after so long together.

Stay safe, stay dry,

Daine

* * *

Daine,

I'd rather not talk about the crossing.

I appreciate that I'm missed. I would be lying to say I'm not concerned that you're outgrowing me-though one may argue that you should.

That being said you were probably right that it was for the best you not join me-you would find this dreadfully dull. Even I am finding it to be a bit tiresome, and I very much enjoy 'musty old rocks' as you charmingly call them.

The ruins are impressive in scope-they extend much further underground than we anticipated-but I'm not sure if we'll find what we're hoping. I won't bore you with the details.

Sincerely,

Numair

* * *

Numair,

I am running very late but Kit is insisting I send this to you immediately. I think it's a fingerpainting (clawpainting?) of the three of us and Spots (she's mad at Cloud-don't ask), but it could be some sort of chaos beast. Not sure.

-Daine

* * *

Daine and Kit,

I love the clawpainting. I have it hung in my tent and treasure it. One of the students asked if I had a toddler at home-is saying yes technically a lie?

Things are well here, though it's getting colder. You know how I feel about the cold. We're moving into a new chamber tomorrow and what we find may decide how much longer we will stay on site for the season.

Hope to see a letter from you soon. Are you still in Corus?

Sincerely,

Numair

* * *

Daine,

I was hoping to see another letter from you, but I know how busy things get. I'm enclosing this in a letter to George since I'm not exactly sure where you are. I don't like not knowing that.

We're still working through that chamber, but no decisions have been made on how much longer we will stay on site. Some of the students are getting restless and I think several of them have learned that they prefer the library to field work (can't say I blame them). You certainly spoiled me as far as favorable students go.

I miss you,

Numair

* * *

George,

Nothing of note to report here. We're still excavating, but if I am needed back home I can return. The Tusaine mages are agreeable and have brought up the idea of collaboration with the University several times-something to talk about with Harailt when I return.

Can you send the enclosed letter to Daine? She said she may go to the Swoop, but I'm not actually sure where she is right now. On that note, where is she?

-Numair

* * *

Tall Hawk,

Must I remind you, again, to send letters through the appropriate channels with the appropriate codes?

I will pass your letter to Copper Wolf.

No need to hurry back now-keep me posted.

-Whisper Man

* * *

Whisper Man,

I'm not exactly sending sensitive information. This seems like overkill, but I will play along.

Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't tell me where Copper Wolf is. You always know where everyone is. What's going on?

-Tall Hawk

P.S. This code-name is worse than the last one. Can I just be Juggler again?

* * *

Daine,

Please write as soon as you are able-is everything okay? I'm concerned.

George won't tell me where you are and I haven't heard from you in weeks.

I'm sending a copy of this to Corus, the Swoop, Legann, and Dunlath for good measure. I'm hoping your letters have just been lost on their way to me.

I have a few things to wrap up here but am planning to be on my way home as soon as I can.

Concerned,

Numair

* * *

Tall Hawk,

Daine is fine. There is no need to fret. She's just taking a well-deserved rest. Remember what peace and quiet feels like?

And while I do like to be in the habit of knowing where all my little birds are in the realm, i don't make a habit of divulging that information unless it's need-to-know. Trivial things like safety to consider, and all that.

Since you're both on leave, I have to assume that this is personal.

Regarding your other matter, John Juggler is now in the ranks so I'm afraid that will be too confusing. I've considered it though, and your request is granted.

Effective now, your code-name will be Stork Man.

You're welcome.

-Whisper Man

* * *

Whisper Man,

No.

At this point you're just mocking me.

-Numair Salmalin

* * *

Daine,

While I am relieved at the news that you are well, i'm confused as to why I haven't heard from you.

I know things were uncomfortable when I left, but I'm hurt at this.

I'm not really sure what to say.

Still though, please write.

Sincerely,

Numair

* * *

Daine,

Since you are presumably not awaiting my return with baited breath I'll be extending my stay for a while longer.

-Numair

* * *

Magelet,

I'm sorry if my last letter was passive-aggressive. I would like us to move past this whole mess.

Please consider writing. I would very much like to know where you are, at least.

Still concerned,

Numair

* * *

Stork Man,

Enclosed please find a...something I received to be sent to you? I hope it's paint. If it's not, I don't want to know.

Little Silver is very talented in many ways, but artistry may not be one of them.

Also, why is this coming through me? What in Mithros' name is going on between the two of you?

Perhaps you both need a longer rest. Gods know the last few years have been hard. What about spending the winter with your family?

I've gotten clearance for you to take the time away providing you make a stop in the Tyran capital on the way. Their college has mentioned a few times that they would be interested in you visiting but we haven't been able to spare you. This might be a good time to kill a couple birds. One stone and all.

-Whisper Man

* * *

Whisper Man,

That's not a bad idea. Send any details you have. I'll make arrangements.

And for your information it's a clawpainting and I think it's lovely.

-Stork Man

* * *

Daine,

I'll be away longer than anticipated as I will be spending the winter with my family.

You're welcome to come if you would like. You're always welcome where I am.

-Numair


	5. By Roads Less Traveled

The weather slowly warmed as he travelled south, finally becoming bearable as he approached the Tyran border. The journey was uneventful which, while usually this would have been a welcome change of pace, was unfortunate as it gave him far too much time to fret and stew.

He had stopped himself from scrying several times by reminding himself that to do so would be a vast breach of her trust when she obviously wanted to be left alone. Left alone by _him_.

By the time the capital city of Tyra came into view it was all he could do but release an exhausted sigh of relief, pushing away the thought that he would only be there a week at most before continuing his journey south.

He announced himself at the palace gate. Obviously, the arrangements had been handled for him as he was expected, though he scowled at the conversation between the guards as he was allowed to pass.

"He's that great wizard? Why he looks like all of us. Just all stretched out."

A page had run to greet him, nearly collapsing from the exertion. Page's always seemed to do everything in a panic. He handed Spots reigns over to the frightened thing, along with a few coins, as another slightly calmer one appeared to take his packs and lead him further into the palace.

Of all the foreign courts he had visited, his home-country had not actually been included until now. He was suspicious that Jon worried that any of his foreign subjects, which was not an insubstantial number, would be wooed away should they return home. The King certainly hadn't been pleased when the Gallan Crown invited Daine to visit them a few years prior-though his displeasure at the idea certainly came second to Daine's.

The architecture was extravagant, but less oppressive than Carthak. The walls and curved arches were painted in a dazzling range of colors and there seemed to be gardens tucked into every possible corner.

"Master Salmalin!" An older Tyran man with a neatly trimmed, pointed beard extended his arms in welcome. Numair smiled and took the man's lead, exchanging a customary kiss on each cheek.

"I am Caspian Andris," he clasped Numair's hand, patting it, "head of the Royal Tyran Mages College."

Numair felt his interest pique in earnest. "Master Andris! It's an absolute pleasure. I found your recent text on the properties of beryl absolutely _fascinating_." Weariness left him, replaced by a million questions he had for the man.

"You flatter me. And it's Caspian, please," he waved him off, obviously pleased.

"And please, call me Numair."

"I am so looking forward to this. Our college may be humble compared to Tortall's, but I hope you will find this exchange as beneficial as I am sure we will." He smiled again, motioning for Numair to follow him. "But first, why don't you settle in. Your rooms are prepared, and you'll have whatever options you're up to for dinner. I'll send a page to have you join me for breakfast, yes?"

Numair nodded, murmuring his agreement. His mind was torn between questions he wanted to ask the mage, and a bath.

"I'll pass you off to better company than this old man to lead the way," he chuckled. "We know you've been travelling, and I know I always enjoy a familiar face after a journey."

"I'm sorry?" He followed Caspian's gaze and froze when it fell upon Daine, standing quietly in the archway with her hands clasped in front of her. She looked at him, the corner of her mouth lifting into a tentative smile. Caspian stopped, looking between the two of them.

"Were you not aware she was here?"

"No," he said, before correcting himself. "We were having trouble receiving letters at our camp, it must have been in one that got lost." He smiled and the other man gave a sigh of relief, and nodded.

"Very well, I'll leave the two of you to catch up. Please send for me should you need anything at all."

Numair watched Caspian disappear down the corridor, taking care not to look at his friend lest he lose his temper. When he did turn to her he knew he had done a poor job at hiding his rage based on how she visibly wilted.

Daine faltered, and glanced to her side. Following her lead he turned to see a very small, very uncomfortable page.

"I can take those." He reached out to accept the packs, motioning impatiently when the page hesitated. "Come along, I won't tell anyone." The boy all but dropped the packs into his arms and scurried down the corridor.

"Can I take anything?" Hearing her voice was more jolting that he had expected.

"No." She bit her lip as silence extended out between them. Finally, she motioned for him to follow her.

"Come on. You must be tired." He followed her through the vibrant hallways in silence. She would glance at him every few moments and inhale as if to say something, but always seemed to think better of it.

They passed down an ornate staircase into a lush garden that seemed to attract all sorts of birds with its varied flora and plentiful fountains. He was sure Daine spent quite a bit of her time here. She veered left, taking him down a smaller path that was densely surrounded by large, leafy plants.

The sounds of the fountains and birds drowned out any of the expected palace din. He could see why she would like it. He stopped, dropping his packs to the ground.

"Hags bones, Daine, where in Mithros' name have you _been_?" He had spent the last couple weeks giving himself pep talks about how he would handle things calmly when he saw her. It wasn't his fault he had thought he would have several more months to prepare. She turned.

"I'm sorry, I-" she looked at the ground, but he was sure he saw the telltale brightness in her eyes. He waited, arms crossed, for her to offer an explanation but when she looked up she asked. "Are you going to yell at me now?" She looked so small, and gods he had missed her. He sighed.

"No," he uncrossed his arms and motioned for her to step closer, "come here." She complied and he pulled her into a crushing hug. "I have missed you very much, magelet." He said into her hair.

"I've missed you too," she mumbled, the sound muffled as her face was buried firmly against his chest.

He pushed her back, arms planted firmly on her shoulders, and looked her dead in the eye.

" _Now_ I am going to yell at you."


	6. By Any Other Way

"What _possessed_ you? Do you know how worried I was?" His voice had taken on an odd quality somewhere between a hiss and a yell, leaving his throat feeling strangled. She bit her lip, pushing his hands away from her shoulders.

"Please," she held up her hands, "just calm down. We can talk when you've settled in-"

"No." He startled even himself with the finality of his tone. "Enough is enough. We will discuss it here and now." She ran a hand through her hair, pulling it from its pinnings so that curls stuck out at odd angles.

"I needed time," she floundered, shrugging, and he couldn't help but scoff.

"I didn't know where you were. Whether you were _okay_ ," he hissed, drawing in close. "Do you have any idea how that feels?" She looked down at her feet, but didn't answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose and began to pace along the narrow path. "I suppose you _did_ know, actually. Did you just not care?" He turned to her and from the look on her face knew hurt was evident on his own. The thought that she had not worried about him in the way he agonized over her had been plaguing him for weeks.

She faltered, searching for words, before shrugging weakly. "I knew where you were."

"Well on that note I suppose I knew where you were as well, if ' _somewhere in Tortall_ ' counts," he huffed and threw up his hands when he remembered where they were. "Although I guess that wasn't even right."

"No," she sighed again, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. "I mean I would have known if you'd moved, or if you were in danger."

"Have you gained the Sight along with a penchant for secrecy, magelet?" Even he winced at his tone; the pet name was usually only applied with affection. She mumbled a response and he moved closer again. "Excuse me?"

"The people would have told me." She said it louder but still did not meet his eye.

"Even your range isn't that far-" he replied, waving her off, but she interjected.

"No, but the people talk to each other and they know you."

"They _know_ me?" He said after a pause, trying to work out her meaning.

"Yes."

"I'm not following."

"I mean, they know what you look like," she blushed again, "and your scent. They know you."

"You're saying _all_ of the people know me?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Everywhere. The Eastern Lands, at least." When he became lost for words she crossed her arms, raising her gaze to meet his. "I made sure they did and that way," she inhaled, "that way if you are ever in danger they can get word to me."

He was somewhere between reaching out to embrace her, and yelling at her in earnest now. He was leaning towards the latter. "So I just spent the last few months wondering if you were alive, and you've been having your friends spy on me?" He sputtered.

"No," she turned to pace now. "It wasn't like that. They don't spy and they don't tell me what you're _doing_. They just," she rubbed her hands over her face and let out a frustrated sigh, "they know you. They know you because you are pack, and if something were to happen to you they would get word to me. That's what they do. Horrible gossips, all of them."

She turned to him, hands on her hips. "And if something had happened to me, you would have been told. You know that."

"Do I? Because I was sure of a lot of things before and they all seem to have been thrown out the window."

" _Yes_ , Numair." She was exasperated, loose curls tumbling around her face. "George knows that if _anything_ were to happen to me you are to be notified. You're on my list."

"Your list?"

"George's panic list," she waved her hand but he only quirked his head and she sighed. "The list of people who should be told if something happens to you. The people who should know if it's time to panic."

He shifted, crossing his arms. "Who else is on your list?" He was still wary. "Every animal in the Eastern Lands?"

She rolled her eyes but turned away from him, blushing again. "Just you," she shrugged. "I mean, I'm fair sure there are other people he would notify but you're the only one I put down." She scuffed her slipper against the stone of the path. Silence stretched between them as they both searched for words. Finally, she looked at him. "Am I on your list?"

"No," he said without thinking but continued when he saw her expression. "But only because I don't think I knew there _was_ a list. Perhaps he thought I get into too much trouble and all those updates would be a lot of work for him." He smiled wryly at the small laugh that escaped her. "But you _should_ be." He felt his anger receding again.

She stepped closer and reached out as if to grasp his arm but seemed to think better of it, pulling her arms back across her chest.

"I _am_ sorry," she met his eye. "I know I hurt you, and I can't imagine how I would have reacted had you done the same to me."

"I seem to remember a certain palace that no longer exists because you lost track of me once," he said quietly. She looked around at their surroundings and raised an eyebrow at him, garnering a laugh.

"I would, but I really need a bath." He placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing back an errant curl. He was still angry, but relief and affection were vying for his focus. He sighed, "we still need to talk about how this all came about." He felt her body tense immediately, her face turning crimson.

"Daine," he held on to her shoulder when she stammered and tried to move away, "before that night this never would have happened. That's why we _need_ to talk about this."

"Numair," he was startled to hear her voice crack, "I can't talk about it. I couldn't even write to you."

"You can talk to me about anything. You know that." He was trying to be sympathetic, but firm. His own stomach was inside out thinking about finally having this discussion and all the hopes and fears he had hinged on it.

"Not this," she shook her head, "anything but this. After I," she stammered, swallowing. "After I-" she turned even redder and seemed to choke on her words.

"After you kissed me." He stated it as a fact, but it seemed to take both of them by surprise. He'd never said it out loud before. He didn't think anyone had said it out loud before. Daine had kissed him. She was staring at him, startled that the unspoken moment had been spoken.

She took a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering, and nodded. "After I kissed you." The words seemed heavy and deliberate as they fell from her mouth. "After I kissed you I didn't know how to handle _us_ anymore." She looked down, and placed a hand over his own against her shoulder.

"It's still just me, magelet." He moved to stroke her cheek with his free hand but she turned her head, shaking it.

"No, it's not. And now you _know_ it's not just you."

"I don't understand."

She sighed again. "There's always been this," she motioned, vaguely, " _boundary_ between us. For everything that we've been through together, which is a fair lot, that was a constant. This line we didn't cross." She brought her free hand to her mouth and he knocked it away before she could chew on a nail, keeping it grasped in his own.

"And then I crossed it," she inhaled, eyes bright and voice shaky. "I crossed it and you didn't. And now it's not _just_ you because I'm on one side and you're on the other. And, before, at least I was able to pretend we were on the same side."

He opened his mouth but she pushed on. "And please don't feel bad about not wanting," she trailed off, shaking her head. "I respect that you didn't want to be with me," she faltered, "in that way. I really do, despite how poorly I behaved. But now I've changed things and I've hurt both of us and I have to find a way to manage that." She shrugged.

He wasn't sure if he had forgotten to breathe or not. If she was saying what he thought she was…

"I did want to," he blurted.

"What?" She blinked at him.

"I did want to." He wasn't sure if he had ever said anything with so much conviction in his life.

"You know I'm talking about when I wanted to canoodle with you, right?" Her own shock seemed to have erased even her embarrassment.

"Yes."

"You _wanted_ to?" She was shaking her head.

"Yes," he realized his error and tried to correct himself, "I mean no." He drew away and pinched the bridge of his nose. If she had been confused before he didn't actually have the vocabulary to describe what she looked like now.

"I-" He raised a hand to cut her off.

"I'm sorry. That was horribly unclear. Let me start over, please." He steepled his fingers and took a deep breath before looking her firmly in the eye. "Magelet, I very much wanted to share your bed that night. _Desperately_." That might just be the understatement of the century. "But we were both very drunk, and if and when we are to lay together that is not _how_ I want it to happen." He felt his nerves begin to creep up when she didn't say anything.

"Daine?" He crossed his arms, studying her. "I'm getting quite nervous that I misunderstood you and have been terribly out of line."

"No," she shook her head but still looked shell-shocked. "I just-I thought you didn't want me."

"Nothing could be further from the truth." They stood there, neither one willing to make the first move until he finally relented and reached out a tentative hand to her. She looked at it and then back at him, before extending her own to accept it. He felt her hand tremble in his own as he grasped it and pulled her to him. As she fell against his chest he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. He had thought to ask her, but she had already moved to close the distance between them and their lips met.

He felt her body sink against his and wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifting her without breaking the kiss. When neither one could go without air any longer they broke apart with breathless laughter and she buried her face against his chest as he stroked her hair.

Contentment like he couldn't remember ever experiencing enveloped him and he felt as though he could stay there forever-until he realized that they were still in the very public courtyard of the palace.

Drawing away he cupped her face in his hands and placed a swift kiss on her forehead. "How about we move this somewhere that's less of a spectacle?"

She looked at him through her lashes in a way that made his stomach flip and he gave a regretful groan. "Sweetling, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but right now I desperately need a bath, some food, and sleep or it will be a dreadfully disappointing night for us both."

She laughed, and pulled away, but kept close as they collected his bags and she led him out of the garden.


End file.
